If You Come To A Bridge, You’ve Gone Too Far!
Author Jan Sumner
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Jan Sumner and JaDan Publishing
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IF YOU COME TO A BRIDGE, YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR
By Jan Sumner
Getting Started
“To have tried and failed, is better than to have not tried and succeeded.”
I don’t know who said that, but it sounded not only challenging, but essential to me. So in 1977, based on that assertion, I ventured forth to start my own company in the insurance inspection business.
I’d worked for several insurance inspection companies, so I decided to take a daring leap and go out on my own. I had no idea what the future held, but I knew I wanted it to be my destiny and not what someone else thought my future should be.
I’d made some good contacts while working for other companies and thought maybe, just maybe, they’d give me a chance once I was on my own.
Sure enough, a good friend gave me the opportunity I needed. That was over thirty years ago. It has been, to say the least, an interesting, educational, and entertaining journey. When someone says, “You can’t make stuff like that up,” this job is the personification of that statement.
In the beginning Business Information Services (which would later become
Colorado Inspection Service) was operated out of a small bedroom in our house. An insurance inspector’s job is to go out to any and all kinds of businesses’ looking for fire and/or liability hazards, checking things like wiring, plumbing, heating, and evidence of water leakage as well as liability hazards, such as overhead clearance, trip and slip hazards, etc., etc. The point being, an inspector must go to the building location and check for unsafe conditions. One of the significant challenges of the job many times was not only finding the building, but getting to the building, when, for instance, it sits on top of a mountain at a ski resort, or a goldmine back in the hills of Wyoming, or it was just out in the country somewhere with no street signs or numbers. Rural areas are renowned for this - endless roads and unmarked buildings.
Along the way, however, I came across the most interesting and eclectic group of people you can imagine. This was both the best and worst part of the job. In general people were nice and tried to be helpful. However, I soon learned that, when asking for directions or help, if the response was, “I think” or “it’s probably,” they, in fact, had no clue where it was. This was before Mapquest or GPS - so I was at the mercy of local maps and/or individuals in the area. Unfortunately, early in my career, I spent many hours and logged even more miles following the guesses and estimations of pseudo guides. This was just one of many lessons I learned over the years.
The equipment required for this job included a clip board (which could double as a weapon, as you’ll see later), a good pencil (so you could write outside in a blizzard), a small flash light (to see in dark, hidden basements of old buildings), a reliable camera, maps (lots of maps), a comfortable and dependable car, and endless patience, the most important characteristic of all. With these tools in place, I was ready to begin my journey, or at least I thought I was!
Since I was a one-man operation, this meant lots of travel around Colorado, Wyoming and some work in Utah, Montana, and New Mexico. Believe me, maps don’t come close to accurately depicting how big these states actually are. You can drive for an hour, and if you’re lucky, you’ll see one car, or as was the case many times in Wyoming, no cars, no people and only an occasional antelope. Sometimes I found this restful, but in the winter months it was downright frightening. Getting caught in a blizzard in the wilds of Wyoming or Montana could be deadly. Although ostensibly aware of this, I unfortunately learned it the hard way.
* * * *
Lesson #1
I’d taken off on one of my eastern half of Wyoming jaunts in January, which immediately tells you I’m not the sharpest tool in the drawer, but since the insurance companies require these inspections be completed within a one month time frame, no matter what time of year, I had no choice.
I was up near Lusk, Wyoming, which is located along the Wyoming - Nebraska border. I was heading home and hoping to get there that same day. I could see a storm moving in and desperately wanted to finish up and drive the 150 miles down to Cheyenne, then the 110 miles on into Denver. I remember talking to a man at the garage I’d inspected, “You better get goin’, or they’ll close the highway on ya,” he said. It had started snowing and in what seemed like a matter of minutes, the wind began to howl. Always alert to my surroundings, but slow to respond, I noticed the storm had quickly turned into a blizzard (blizzard by definition – horizontal snow). I jumped in my car and started down Highway 85 to Cheyenne. It’s a two-lane highway that runs along the eastern border of the state. The terrain is flat prairie land and the winds can be belligerent. This coupled with horizontal snow was turning the drive into an unworkable task. As I headed south out of Lusk, it just kept getting worse. I would learn later, that they did in fact close the road right after I left. Somewhere south of Lusk the pavement began to disappear. It quickly became a whiteout. I slowed down so I could see the poles on the side of the road, which was the only way I could determine if I was still on the highway.
Suddenly out of nowhere a pickup truck shot by me. The back draft created conditions similar to driving inside cotton. I was driving blind. I didn’t want to stop completely for fear of someone behind me would run up my tail pipe. I swerved and swayed my way into Cheyenne in what seemed like days. I’d left Lusk about 3 p.m. with 150 miles to go. I arrived in Cheyenne around 10 p.m. What should have taken a little over two hours had turned into seven, and felt longer. The weather conditions were despicable.
I pulled into the parking lot of the Hitching Post Motel to get a room. A tractor-trailer had rolled over on the interstate leading to Denver and the state patrol had closed the highway - there was no going home. I was exhausted. I figured I’d better get a room as quickly as possible, because I wasn’t the only one stranded. I pulled on the door handle of my car to get out - it didn’t budge. I kept tugging with no success. I could vaguely see through the blizzard conditions and fogged windows as other people pulled into the parking lot and ran into the motel.
It must have looked like a snake had gotten loose, or I was getting mugged, as I flopped around inside my car trying to get the door open. I had bench seats so I finally propped myself against the passenger door and kicked as hard as I could against the driver’s side door. The door finally flew open, tearing all the molding off the side of my car from the front fender all the way to the back bumper. What I hadn’t realized was that during my excursion through the Arctic tundra, my car had become encased in ice. The door was literally frozen shut. I did get a room and eventually made it home the next day, albeit with a damaged car and beleaguered psyche. It was a lesson I never forgot.
Snow Blind
Talk about blizzards with an attitude. I remember sitting in an insurance office soon after I’d gotten started and having an underwriter tell me about a truck driver who’d been battling a severe snowstorm one night.
Apparently, he was driving directly into the storm. The snow was hitting him head on so hard that at one point he actually thought his tractor had stopped. I remember thinking, “Oh, come on. How in the world could he have possibly believed he wasn’t moving?” Nevertheless, that’s exactly what he thought, so he opened his door and stepped out. Unfortunately, his tractor was still moving at about 35 mph. He was cut, bruised and banged up pretty badly, but he survived. At the time we laughed about it, but that was because it hadn’t happened to either one of us. Still it just seemed impossible to me. Several years went by and I had completely forgotten about it.
Late one night I found myself heading south out of Laramie, Wyoming in a very heavy snowstorm. The farther I got out of town, the darker it got. Plus the blizzard-like conditions made it impossible to see the road. The snow was blowing directly into my face. It became hypnotic. I could barely see past the front hood. As I made my way down the highway, at what I thought was a decreasingly safe speed, I suddenly got the over whelming sensation I wasn’t moving. I was absolutely convinced of it. Now, I wasn’t about to get out of the car, but when I looked at the speedometer and found I was cruising along at over sixty miles per hour - I realized this was just a LITTLE too fast for the conditions. I snapped myself out of the snow-induced trance, and got down to a more reasonable speed. Eventually I got in behind a trucker and followed him safely out of the storm.
Once home, I thought about that snow blind-trucker. Yep, I could see how it might happen.
Man’s Best Friend
While I was working for another inspection company, the manager at the time was telling me about his first few days on the street. He said he would hop out of his car and immediately start inspecting the building with little regard for potential dangers. I mean after all, what was there to worry about?
“Yeah, right,” I said. “What?” Showing my familiarity with street work.
“Don’t ever forget this – DOGS!” He said emphatically.
He told me about going out to inspect a house and paying no attention to things he would later learn were very significant. Things like dog’s foot prints, bones (animal, that is), dog chains, etc. He said he opened the gate (another mistake), went around the side of the house and was looking eye to eye with a large, snarling dog. He wasted no time in turning and running for his life. He didn’t have time to open the gate so he tried jumping the fence.
It almost worked – almost! He was part way over, when he felt the distinct sensation of teeth sinking into his buttocks. His momentum carried him over the fence, leaving the dog with a mouthful of his posterior and a large portion of the seat of his pants.
This was a valuable, albeit painful, lesson for him and one I would never forget. From that point on I always checked for the obvious and not so obvious signs that there might be a large pet on the premises.
As bad luck would have it, it wasn’t long before I found myself in that very same situation. Per my newly acquired “Animal Rules” I checked for all possible clues. Because no one answered the front door, I walked around the side of the house, encountering a five-foot chain link fence that surrounded the back yard. There was an elderly man standing in the back corner watering his flowers. I yelled to him - no response. I yelled louder, and again, no reaction. Quite possibly, I determined, he was hard of hearing. While still standing outside the fence, I looked carefully around the yard for a dog or signs there of. One trick I’d learned was to rattle the gate, which would invariably bring them running. I tried one more holler, unsuccessfully, so I shook the gate, paused and stepped into the yard. I closed the gate behind me and started to walk toward the unaware man.
I can only figure now that this was one cunning dog. He’d lain in wait, until I’d made the fatal commitment. Hiding in the shrubs at the far end of the yard, he was now coming across the grass like a runaway train. I was so shocked by this bullet from the bushes, I couldn’t move. Here I was frozen in place and the elderly (deaf) man was still totally oblivious to what was happening.
The dog from hell was approaching like the blast from a shotgun and I figured I was in jeopardy of losing far more than the seat of my pants. Just as I was about to become a human dog chewy, he suddenly and inexplicably stopped, and not any too soon. His snarling canines were but a few inches from some very important body parts. Luckily, he was tethered to a post at the back of the yard, and fortunately I hadn’t stepped inside the radius of his chain. Shaken, but not stirred, I was still able to walk…sort of. I turned and staggered out of the yard, closing the gate behind me. When I looked back, the ancient gardener was still watering his flowers, completely unaware he’d had a visitor, an almost a dead one at that.
I later wondered what he’d have thought once he realized his dog was playing, nay, tearing apart this apparently silent trespasser. Oh well, I lived to inspect another day.
Bruno
That was the sneakiest dog I ever encountered. Then there was Bruno! In this case I knew he was there and he knew I was there. I was desperately hoping to avoid a confrontation - while he was frantically looking for a meal.
I had to go into the lower downtown industrial section of Denver to inspect a warehouse. It was about 4 p.m. as I pulled up to the building. The owner had just locked up and was leaving. As I got out of the car to explain what I needed to do, I could hear what sounded like an insane bear inside the building. The dog was so loud we actually had to speak up to be heard. After some persuasion, he agreed to let me in. But before he unlocked the door he turned to me and said, “Whatever you do keep your hands down at your sides and make no gestures toward me. Bruno won’t understand and will attack you.” Wow, how wonderful, I could hardly wait! He already sounded like he wanted me for dinner and we hadn’t even met.
It was an old metal building in pretty bad shape and I just couldn’t wait to see the inside - especially with Bruno lying in wait. The owner unlocked the door and out flew Bruno. I had my arms glued to my sides and did my best to become invisible. Besides his ability to become airborne, Bruno appeared to be a mix of Chow, grizzly bear and some sort of alien. He, of course, came immediately after me, I think to see if I would raise an arm or move in any way. Was he kidding? I was completely paralyzed with fear as this beast-dog pounced around me just hoping I’d make a mistake and give him a reason to devour me. As the owner entered the building I wasn’t sure I could even move, let alone follow him, what with Bruno snapping and biting the air right in front of me. But, somehow I got my legs moving and followed them into the building. Once inside it was impossible to see. I can only surmise that the man stored trash. Junk was piled everywhere and there was only a small narrow path directly through the middle of it. Every fifty feet or so, he had a ten watt bulb, dimly lighting our way. I was literally stumbling along in the dark. With my hands stiff at my sides it was impossible to write, so I was trying to remember everything I saw.
Unfortunately, I could see virtually nothing. We proceeded through the cave, the owner leading the way, followed by Bruno, who was constantly spinning around snarling and dying to consume one of my legs.
Suddenly, without warning, there was a step up. I couldn’t and didn’t see it. Of course I tripped, and in the process booted you know who right in the tail wagon. Well, this represented far more than a simple hand gesture. I hadn’t just lifted my arm or made a vague threat toward Bruno’s master, I had actually kicked King Kong right in the butt. It was winter so, fortunately, I had on a pair of boots. Bruno swung around in the blink of an eye and clamped down on my ankle. I think he wanted to take me into the crocodile death roll, but these were heavy old boots so all I felt was pressure. The owner, seeing this, grabbed him and pulled him off. As he tugged him away, I could see the frustration and disappointment in Bruno’s eyes and teeth. During the rest of the inspection, he had to hold onto this maniac canine with a death grip, while I was feeling like a warm puddle of…well, you get the picture. I was just praying the man was strong enough to keep Godzilla off of me. We finished up without further incident, but he did have a hard time locking up while trying to keep Bruno inside.